Confessions of a boot licker (2)

Things seem quiet lately. You guys still out there? Still interested? Should I keep going, or call it a day?


If this continues, I'll eventually have to put this in order. For now, I'm just writing tales as the memories come back.

Lunch hours, Lesbians, and Luck

When my high school changed to block scheduling, not only did I have to contend with four eighty-minute classes every day, but I also had to deal with three lunch sessions of half an hour each. I could go to whichever one I wanted (I was never one to be constrained by rules), and then I had another hour to kill, one that most people were spending with club meetings or whatever it was the pretty and popular people did.

Me, I spent my time just killing the hour reading, studying, or whatever else came to mind. And I wasn't the only one to think that way.

The one I remember most was Heather. She had red hair and blonde bangs. Rumor had it she was gay, and the girl she always hung out with, Teresa, was her girlfriend. It certainly seemed that way. There was this one day when I was sitting in a nearly empty classroom, reading a book. Heather and Teresa were both in the room. Sitting on the floor. Heather's legs were spread wide, Teresa's feet were pressed against her legs just below the knees. They were stretching, completely oblivious to the fact that I was even in the room.

Heather was wearing jeans that were nicely tucked in to some very sexy black knee high doc martens. She had wonderful curves that I couldn't keep my eyes off of.

Not to say that Teresa was any kind of a slouch. She was a lanky goth girl, complete with the shaggy black hair, the thick eyeliner, the heroine chic look, painted on pants, and boots that were as much metal spikes as they were leather and thick rubber soles.

I must have made a noise or something, because they stopped what they were doing and turned a glare on me.

“Something I can help you with?” Heather asked. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, setting her feet apart like she was ready to fight.

I blushed. “I'm sorry,” I said.

She cocked her head, and the little blonde bangs fell across her face. She practically growled at me. 

“You like what you see, huh?”

It's a good thing I was sitting down. If I'd been standing, she would have seen my erection. I was pressed so hard against my pants she would have been able to see my religion.

On the plus side, I wasn't blushing anymore; there wasn't enough blood in my body to do both. I'm guessing she saw my face go pale and thought I was scared. She laughed at me.

Teresa stood next to her and gave me an evil smirk. “She asked you a question.”

I swallowed hard. I was fifteen years old, and more than just a virgin. “Um. Yes?”

Teresa laughed this time. “Are you sure?”

I looked around the room, but there wasn't anyone else there. The door was closed. I looked at the clock. There was at least twenty minutes left before anyone would be walking the halls, before anyone else would be coming into the room. We were alone. No help was coming.

“So what is it?” Heather asked. “You just like watching us stretch?”

“I like your boots,” I said. I immediately regretted saying it.

There was silence in the room for a few seconds. A few seconds that felt like years. Heather's angry look became a smirk. “You like our boots?”

I nodded.

She shifted a little, and the leather of her boots made a creaking sound. Teresa laughed whens she saw me bite my lip.

“Whose do you like better?” Heather asked.

They stepped closer to me. I was sitting at a desk, practically trapped, and they were surrounding me. Heather put her hands on the desk and leaned in close. “Whose,” her voice was dark “boots,” throaty, “do,” she glared at me, “you. Like. Better?”

“Yours,” I said, my voice empty, my throat dry.

Teresa slapped me upside the head. “You don't like my boots?” she demanded.

“No, it's not like that.” I was stammering, and didn't realize that there hadn't been a right answer. “I love yours too. I just--”

“Love?” Heather leaned back, suddenly giving me some breathing room. Oxygen flowed in around me, but not to my brain. “Did you just say that you love my boots?”

Teresa turned to Heather. “Actually, he said he loved my boots.”

They faced each other with angry postures but big smiles on their faces. “But he still prefers mine,” Heather said.

I looked towards the door again, wondering if there was some way I could get out of there.

Then Heather slapped a hand on the desk, jarring my attention back to her. “You love my boots too, don't you?”

I nodded.

“Prove it.” They stepped away from me. “Get down on your knees and give them a kiss.”

“Mine too,” Teresa said.

I opened my mouth to protest. Heather shook her head. “No more talking,” she said. “Your mouth should be on my boots. On your knees, bitch.”

I almost cut myself on the spikes of Teresa's boots, but I didn't particularly care. I kissed all four boots. I was on my hands and knees, bent down and pressing my mouth to Teresa's boot. As I lifted my head up, I felt something on my neck.

Heather pushed her boot down on my neck. I wasn't expecting it, and my arms just went out from under me. My chest hit the floor, and the air blasted out of my lungs.

She pressed me against the floor, and they laughed at me. Teresa prodded me in the side with the spiky boots. I probably could have reached around and pushed her off, but it was an awkward angle. And I wasn't able to breathe all that well. Plus I was in a vulnerable position.

Oh, and I was way too turned on to even consider trying to get away.

“What do we do with him?” Heather asked, her foot pressing my neck into the floor like she was ready to bury me. Like they were considering just killing me and calling it a day.

“I like him,” Teresa said. “And I've got lots of boots that need to be taken care of. Do you think he'd lick them clean if we asked him to?”

Heather laughed and pressed harder. “I think he'd lick them clean if we just let him do it. Hell, I'd bet he'd even ask us if he could. Maybe even beg us.” She ground her boot against my neck. “You would, wouldn't you?”

It felt like she was going to break my neck. Still, I would have nodded if given the chance.

“He could make our last few months kinda fun,” Teresa said. “Plus, it could get my mom off my back if she saw that I had a clean cut boyfriend.”

Heather lifted her foot, and they helped me to my feet. I was coughing for breath, and even though I was bigger than she was, she manhandled me like a rag doll. Pushed my back against the wall, kept me off balance.

Then she kissed me. No tongue, just pressed her lips against mine.

Then her knee came up into my groin, and my vision went dim around the edges.

I fell to the floor, coughing again, curled up on a ball and whimpering in pain.

Heather got down close so she could whisper in my ear. “Now you're going to keep all this our little secret,” she said. “You be a good boy, and we'll let you play, let you love our boots. You tell anyone what's going on, and we'll tell everyone what you did today, of your own free will. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” I coughed again.

She smiled. “Good,” she said. She patted me on the head. “Now pull yourself together before anyone sees you whimpering on the floor like a pathetic little piece of shit.”

“And remember,” Teresa said, “You tell our secret, we'll tell yours.”

It was the most unnecessary blackmail of all time.